Empire
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Sequel to Deuteronomy. Dean’s never had anything for himself before, and he’s not entirely sure how this works. So he fumbles, he stumbles, and he tries to explain. Dean/Castiel.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Empire

**Summary:** Sequel to Deuteronomy. Dean's never had anything for himself before, and he's not entirely sure how this works. So he fumbles, he stumbles, and he tries to explain. Dean/Castiel.

**Rating:** Soft R

**Warnings:** It's slash, people. But there's nothing explicit this time, so yay. Oh, and blasphemy, but that's pretty much a given with these two, isn't it?

**A/N:** The events of the first story are touched upon in this one, but I'd suggest you read the first one… well, _first_. It's not terribly long, and definitely interesting. You can try to read this one without the first. Let me know how that works out

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Except for the disturbing thoughts that plague my mind… about characters that I don't own. So, does that technically make them Kripke's thoughts? That pervert!

* * *

Empire

Dean would have been surprised that Sam hadn't called. Really. But he wasn't worried about Sam at the moment. There were a lot of other things to worry about. The fate of his immortal soul should have taken top priority, especially after the night before, but he wasn't concerned. He wasn't worried. He'd been assured that he was fine.

Sam was fine, too. He could take care of himself. And if he tried to call and realized that Dean had turned his phone off, well, too bad for Sammy. Dean was still a little pissed. Making him sleep in the car.

Well, not _sleep_ so much as-

"You haven't touched your breakfast."

Dean jumped, scolding himself for letting his mind wander. He turned his eyes from the run-down little diner he'd found near the park to the angel sitting across from him. "Neither have you."

"I was waiting for you."

"To eat? Go right ahead."

"I was being polite." Castiel said.

Dean laughed. "Right. Because after last night, I'd totally expect that." He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, and cast his eyes away from his companion again. "Sorry."

The angel leaned forward slightly, haphazardly knotted tie getting dangerously close to his syrup-drenched plate. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It was God's Will."

"Just… eat your breakfast," Dean mumbled, entirely too uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. As if his life hadn't been messed up enough before, as if he hadn't already screwed himself to Hell once, he'd had to go and do it all again and take someone else with him this time, even though that someone said that neither of them were going.

He glanced up to see the angel starting to eat, cutting up the two burnt waffles he'd ordered and carefully chewing, swallowing. He'd never seen the other man eat before, he realized.

He hadn't realized a lot of things. Like just how screwed up he really was. Like just how far he was willing to go to get a sense of belonging, of happiness, of love. "Does this mean you're gonna stay with me now?"

He clamped his teeth down as soon as the question had left his mouth. _Stupid._ What was it about silence that always made him want to fill the void, that made him say stupid things, ask stupid questions, do stupid things?

"Do you want me to stay?" Castiel asked.

"Maybe."

He shrugged. "Then I'll stay." And just like that, it was settled.

Dean blinked. "Really?"

"If that is what you want."

"I…" He didn't have a response to that one. "Well, don't you have other, I dunno, _Heaven_ stuff to do?"

"Not anymore."

Dean let out a hiss of air. "Right. Sor-"

"Don't apologize."

"Well, what about that guy?"

Castiel looked over his shoulder, as if searching for the person Dean was referring to. "What guy?"

"The one you're in," Dean clarified. "How's he feel about this?" Because, honestly, when he got to thinking about it, it was rape on two levels. And he just wasn't cool with that.

"Thomas feels nothing." Castiel said, and that hadn't exactly been the reply that Dean had expected, but he went with it, nonetheless.

"You really need subtitles, you know that? Angel to English. We should write a dictionary."

The angel cocked his head to one side, inspecting the hunter. "What I said is simple and straightforward, Dean. He feels nothing but Heavenly bliss. He has moved on to his reward."

"Are you trying to tell me he's dead? You killed him? I thought you said he prayed for this."

"He did. He prayed for a release from the pain of his life. He prayed that he could do good in his final moments."

"So you possessed him and you killed him." He didn't know why, but he was strangely hurt. The idea of necrophilia-

"This body is alive as long as I inhabit it. You've felt its warmth. You know that I'm telling you the truth."

"You killed a man."

"He was already dying."

Dean shook his head. "What?"

"This man," Castiel said, gesturing toward the body he was inhabiting, "he was dying. He had been diagnosed with a type of cancer. There was a tumor in his brain, and the doctors could not operate. It was slowly killing him. He prayed that the pain would be taken away, that he could be used for Good."

"So you hopped in, sent him off to Heaven, or wherever, and started walking around in his meat suit?" Dean asked.

"Basically, but with a little more finesse."

"So, you healed him."

"I sent him off to his reward. I answered his prayers."

"And you cured him."

Castiel frowned. "I do not understand."

"You said he had cancer. There was a tumor. It was gonna kill him. It's gone now, right?"

"This body cannot die as long as I am here."

"So he's still sick?"

"No harm will come to-"

"But that tumor's still growing?" Dean asked, suddenly scared. He swallowed hard, the quickly cooling food in front of him suddenly seeming less appetizing.

Wherever his fear had come from, it was ungrounded. The angel had a point. He couldn't die. Not of something as trivial as cancer. But, still, that fear was there, tickling the back of Dean's mind.

An inoperable brain tumor. Months to live. What made him so worthy of this, of anything, of being saved? What made him better than anyone else? Why did he get a reward for doing the unthinkable, the unspeakable? _It was God's Will_.

God had a twisted sense of humor, ripping him out of Hell and giving him a dying angel as a gift.

"Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Dean, are you all right?"

"Fix it."

"I'm sorry?"

"_Fix_ it," Dean growled. "And that's an order."

Castiel sighed, nodded, and closed his eyes. He sat like that for a while, with Dean staring, nervous, waiting for signs of a trick, before his eyelids slid back open and that bright blue stare bored back into him. "He's better. Fine. Are you all right?"

"You're sure? Positive?"

"Completely healed. Are you-"

Dean forced a grin, stabbed his fork into his waffles. "Great. Never better."

"You were scared."

"Got a lot of shit happening at once. You'd be scared, too."

The angel nodded again before turning back to his breakfast. Dean watched him for a moment before deciding that he wasn't lying about healing the vessel, and turned to his own cold plate of food.

He was regretting insisting on getting breakfast after what had happened in the park. He was regretting a lot of things. Losing control, for one. Being so damned needy for another.

He shuddered. And since when was he was he always so cold? Seemed like a constant thing now. Probably all part of that big cosmic joke.

The silence droned on, hardly broken by the soft sound of chewing. "So, explain this to me again," Dean said, desperate for some kind of conversation, anything to distract from the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind. "I _own _you?"

Castiel looked up from his breakfast and smiled. Dean barely held back a gasp. It was instantaneous. He wasn't cold anymore. He wasn't scared. He wasn't confused. Wasn't lonely. Wasn't anything but loved and wanted and… it was odd. Something that had taken a kiss the night before took a smile now?

He smiled back, unable to help himself. "Well?"

The angel shrugged, an action that struck Dean as strangely human. "I suppose you could phrase it like that. Yes. I belong to you. Whatever you need, I will provide. Just say the word."

The smile faded from the hunter's lips. That sounded good. Way too good. And life had taught him that if something sounded too good to be true (_one year, and Sam will live a full, healthy life_), it usually was_ (but he'll grow distant. He'll grow desperate. He'll become a stranger)_.

"That's why you let me do what I did in the car?"

"God commanded that, just as He commanded that you be ripped from Hell."

"But you healed Thomas because I told you to?"

"Yes."

Dean leaned forward, pushing his plate out of his way with his forearms. He was quickly losing his appetite. "But you didn't want to. Not really."

"You wanted me to." Castiel stated it as if it were a simple fact, and it was. But something about the way he said it made Dean's skin crawl.

"You don't have free will, do you?"

"No. I don't."

"Everything you've ever done, someone told you to do. Either me or God."

"I am honored to be of service."

Dean narrowed his eyes, inspecting the other man. "You've never made your own decisions? You've never had any control?"

"No. It was never important to me. I never needed control. I was happy to do God's work, and I am happy to fulfill your wishes."

Damn, if his heart didn't flutter at that one. Sure, plenty of people had said that to him in his lifetime, but this was the first one that actually meant it, the first one he wasn't paying.

He shook his head. "You don't want free will?"

Castiel gave him that innocent look of his, blue eyes wide and questioning, head cocked to the side like a curious puppy. "Should I?"

Dean decided to let that one go unanswered.

-.-

"Just let me do all the talking." Dean slid the small, tarnished key to the motel room out of his pocket and unlocked the door. He really wasn't looking forward to explaining this situation to his brother, especially after he'd found all the frantic voicemail messages left on his phone that morning.

He walked into the room to find Sam standing by the television set, frantically messing with the old knobs in attempt to the clear the static that had burst into life as Dean and his companion had neared the door.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam turned from the TV and glared at his brother. "Where the Hell have you been?" His eyes flicked to the angel. "And who the Hell is that?"

Dean managed a smirk. "Funny you should mention Hell."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Really not in the mood today, Dean."

"Yeah, well, neither am I." The older man sighed and flopped down on his bed, leaving Sam and the angel standing across form each other, staring. "Sam, Cass. Cass, Sam. Now that we all know each other-"

"That's not my name," Castiel argued.

"Well, it should be." Dean said. "Why should I be expected to waste my time on those two extra syllables when I don't have to?"

"Wait," Sam said, interrupting what might have been an argument. "This is your angel?"

Dean almost corrected him, almost told him that it wasn't like he'd gotten the damned thing chipped, but then thought better of it. He wasn't even sure how Sam would take to having a third body in the Impala with them, let to alone to finding out that Dean _owned_ that third body. Because that proclamation was bound to come with some questions, and the older hunter just couldn't deal with those at the moment.

So he shrugged, hoping to take the easy way out. "Guess you could call him that."

"What's he doing here? Is something up?"

_No,_ Dean thought automatically, his mind whirring to life before the rest of him could follow, _but it was last night._ He shook his head, hoping like hell that the angel hadn't chosen that moment to dig around in his thoughts. Not that it mattered anymore. All he had to do was say the word, and all threats of Hell would vanish forever. He hoped.

"No," he finally said, realizing that the pause between question and answer had grown a little too long for comfort. "Nothing's wrong. He just needs a place to crash for a while." _Like, as long as I want him._ He couldn't help but smile. That would take some explaining, too, when the time started to drag on, but he had a feeling he could handle it.

Sam shrugged. "Oh. All right, then." And for a moment, Dean was able to breathe easy. That hadn't been as hard as he'd thought. "So, where'd you go?"

"What?"

"I thought you were gonna sleep in the car last night," Sam said. "When I went out to find you this morning, the pillow and the sheet were out there and the windows were fogged over, but you were gone."

Dean heart stilled in his chest for half a second before he came up with a reasonable answer. "We went to get breakfast. There was a diner in town. I was hungry."

"Oh. Does he eat?"

"He's in some guy. Yeah." They both turned to look at the angel, who had barely said a word since entering the room.

"Oh." Sam was saying that at lot lately. "What did you bring me?"

Dean snorted. "Go get your own damn food."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

"Hey, you're not the one who had to sleep in the car last night." With another eye roll, Sam grabbed the keys and walked out of the room. Dean turned to Castiel and smiled. "That went better than I thought." He patted the space on the bed beside him. "Come here."

The angel shot him a questioning look, but obeyed, crossing the room and sitting down beside him on the bed. "Your brother doesn't know the whole story."

"And he won't. Like, ever. He'll come back with a crap-ton of questions about God and religion and Heaven or whatever, but he can't know about… _that_. Got it?"

"You want me to lie?"

Dean shrugged, kicked off his boots, and stretched out on the bed. "That gonna be a problem?"

"I've never done it before."

"Seriously? Oh, this is gonna be fun. Look, just don't say anything about what's really going on, ok?"

"You're really not going to tell him?"

"Give me one good reason-" Castiel opened his mouth. "-that doesn't involve the words 'honesty' or 'truth' or 'God.'"

The angel sighed. "He's bound to find out eventually."

"No. He's not. So just drop it." Den shrugged his shoulders, trying to relieve some tension. That was the one thing he was never going to explain, the one thing that he knew would make Sam walk away once and for all. It was unforgivable, God's Will or not, and he knew Sammy wouldn't be able to see past the rumpled sheets and fogged-up windows. Hell, _he_ was still having trouble doing that.

So he was surprised when he suddenly wasn't the only one laying down on the bed, when another body was pressed up against his, a warm arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders.

He curled himself into the touch, wrapping his own arms around Castiel, rolling sideways and resting his head on the angel's chest. He wasn't gonna think about how weird it was. He wasn't going to wonder about how long Sam might be gone. He was only going to concentrate on the fact that he hadn't asked, had just received.

And he was so warm. Warm and wanted without a kiss, without a smile, with just a touch. With a presence. And it was nice.

"Do you love me?" It seemed a logical question to ask, if not a little early into whatever kind of odd relationship had been determined for them. It wasn't the kind of thing that he would usually ask, and he certainly wouldn't have a positive answer if the question was thrown back at him, but it didn't matter. Not this time. Maybe that had been what prompted it.

Castiel glanced over at him. "Do you want me to?"

Dean blinked. That hadn't been the response he'd been expecting. "I… think so. Yeah."

"Then, yes. I do."

The hunter shook his head. "It doesn't work like that, Cass."

"But, you want-"

"Can you fix the TV?" The silence that followed was heavy, awkward. Warm fingers traced the mark on Dean's arm, finding it even under the layers of clothing, lightly touching as the TV screen hissed in and out of static.

Dean barely noticed. He was too busy thinking. A catch. There was always a catch. Always something that made it too good to be true. And he'd found it. What good was love if it was forced, not mutual? Was it even really love? Or was it just slavery?

* * *

Part 2 should be up tomorrow. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry I'm posting so late.  Speech has officially eaten my life.  Blah.

* * *

Sam was out getting dinner, probably some shitty Chinese take-out, but Dean didn't care. He laid on the bed, watching the TV, wondering if the switch from analog to digital would rid them of the static that would now follow them from motel to motel. The shower droned on in the background, a slight hiss, and he let his mind wander.

He'd never had anything for himself before, never had something to call his own. Sure, there had been things that he had joint ownership of- things like the laptop, scammed credit cars, old clothing. Then there were the things that he had taken, things that had been his father's or brother's, things that he'd known they wouldn't miss.

John's taste in music. His leather jacket. The car. They belonged to Dean now, but they would always really be his dad's.

And then there was the stuff that had belonged to Sam. He'd tried not to take too much of that. Mostly, it was trivial stuff. Halloween candy. Answers for homework assignments, the worksheets snuck into Sammy's books when the younger boy hadn't been looking. Wakeful ears at bedtime to hear whatever story their father happened to be telling that night. But none of those things had been meant for him. Not like this.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He knew he wasn't deserving. He'd never been.

But still, the thought of it excited him. There was a being that existed solely to make him happy, to do whatever he commanded, that promised to never leave. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was the closest he would ever get, and he wasn't going to kid himself about that.

He got up and flipped off the television at the same moment the shower turned off. _His_. The angel was his, and made him feel so warm, so wanted, so _loved_. It might have been akin to slavery, but maybe that was ok. As long as he was never asked to grant free will, there would be no question of morals. They could both be happy.

Dean could be happy.

The shower door opened and Castiel appeared in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. "I'm going to need to borrow some clothes."

"Been meaning to talk to you about that," Dean said with a grin. "'Bout time you lost the holy tax accountant get-up. I've got a t-shirt and some old jeans in the duffle that should fit." He nodded toward the bag, which had been flung onto a chair the night before.

The angel walked to the bag and began rooting through it for something that looked clean. "You seem troubled."

"I'm fine."

He pulled out a black t-shirt and sniffed it, shrugged, and put it on. "You don't look fine. You look… distant."

"I'm thinking. This is my thinking face."

"You don't make it often."

Dean rolled his eyes. "And now he has a sense of humor."

Castiel shook his head, absently grabbing a pair of boxers and some old jeans from the duffle. "I was not trying to be funny. I was simply making an observation."

Dean turned his head as the towel fell to the floor. _And now _I_ have sense of modesty_, he thought to himself. _Great._

"You can turn back around," the angel said, and Dean was surprised to find that the voice was coming from right behind him. He spun, looking into blue eyes. "You don't have to be scared."

"I'm not scared. There's a difference between fear and thought."

"What were you thinking about?" The familiar narrowing of the eyes, cock of the head.

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was too tired to lie. Not that lying would do any good, anyway, not with the angel looking inside his mind when it was the least convenient for him. "How I've never really had anything like this before."

Castiel bowed his head, wet hair flopping down and sticking to his forehead. "I see."

"No. You don't. Nobody gets it."

"I do."

Dean shook his head and wandered away, back across the room. "Nothing. I got nothing. I got kicked in the teeth and ripped to shreds and sent to Hell."

"You were saved."

"I was pulled out so that I could be used to stop the Apocalypse. Yeah, that's great. Just what I wanted. I'm feeling the love there."

"But that's not what you were thinking about."

"Really?"

"Really. You were thinking about how you stole your favorite leather jacket from your father's motel room after he went missing. You were thinking about how Sam blamed you for that prank the Trickster pulled with the laptop. You were thinking about how you used to take your brother Trick-or-Treating, even though your father forbade it, and you would sneak candy from his bag after he'd gone to sleep. You were thinking about how undeserving you are, about how this is too good to be true. You were thinking about how you've never had anything for yourself."

"Lucky guess," Dean scoffed.

"But what you were not thinking was the only thing you should have been. You _are_ worthy. You are loved. I would not be here if you weren't. It's about time you let yourself have something, even if you're not entirely sure what to _do_ with it."

Dean glanced back at him. "What are you saying?"

The angel approached him, his steps slow and steady, calculated, as if he wasn't sure what Dean was going to do. "You need to accept what you've been given."

"I'm not sure it works like that. I mean, slavery was abolished-"

"It's not slavery, Dean. This is something else. Something pure. Something just for you."

"But you can't say no."

"Who said I want to?"

Dean gulped, his throat dry, heart pounding. "I said you shouldn't." He closed the space between them in one long stride, slamming the other man up against the wall. "I never had…" He breathed, exhaled deeply, grounding himself, thinking. "But _you_?" He leaned in until their lips met, until that same warmth that had been with him the night before and all through the day was coursing back through him, stronger than ever, burning through his veins, into his very being. It felt right, felt good, felt like love.

Standing there, pressed flat against the wall, Dean pinning him down, body damp, Castiel was beautiful. He was warm, was breathing, was living. His heart was beating and he was perfectly capable of logical thought. And yet there he was, in a room with Dean, talking about things deserved and earned.

Maybe, just maybe, Dean was falling in love. Maybe, just maybe, it was safe this time. All it would take was a word, a simple _stay_, and he'd never be alone again. He would never have to worry about anything. He might not be loved back in the way that he'd expected, had always wanted, but at least there would be no fear, no abandonment, no backing out.

"I love you." The words were breathy, still spoken with a semblance of fear. Old habits were hard to break, and Dean had stopped trusting people long ago. He knew it was safe, but…

"I won't leave." Whispered in his ear, the voice so soft it was barely there, and for the first time in his life, he believed every word. He had no reason to doubt.

"You," he said once more, taking the angel's mouth in his own. "_Mine_." He slid his hand from the lean shoulder, down a slightly muscular chest, and let it rest on slight hips. _His_. Something that nothing could take away.

He hadn't even heard the door open. He heard his brother's strangled gasp, though, heard the disgust in the younger man's voice when Sam said his name. He pulled his lips from Castiel's in time to see the door slam shut.

-.-

Dean found his brother at the park, pacing back and forth on a bridge that crossed a small creek, running a hand over his face, huffing and puffing and jutting his chin out in annoyance and anger.

"Sammy?"

"What the Hell, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "Funny you should mention Hell."

Sam glared at him, finally standing still. "Tell me I didn't just see what I thought I saw."

"You didn't-"

"Like _Hell_."

"Look," the older man said softly, "I can explain everything."

"Really? Because I'd love to hear what you've got. Lemme guess? CPR?"

Dean shook his head. It was useless to lie, useless to try to keep more than what he deserved. One thing or another. "It's complicated."

"Try."

"The other night, I… I did something and… and it's just complicated, Sammy."

"Gonna need more than that, Dean," the younger man said, leaning against the railing on the bridge and staring into the shallow water that rushed by beneath them.

"It's not my fault."

"You mouth-raped an angel."

Dean blinked, took a step back, bowed his head. "It's ok, though."

"You're not even gay."

"Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

A small smile worked its way across the older hunter's face before he could stop it. "Because he's mine."

Sam scowled and turned back toward his brother. "What?"

"I did something," Dean explained, "something bad, but it's ok. It's ok, because somehow he belongs to me now."

Sammy shook his head. "You're not making sense."

"I know how it sounds, but it's true."

"You've got a God complex?"

"No. He listens to me, he does what I tell him, and-"

"And you pin him up against a wall and invade his mouth with your tongue?"

"He's not gonna leave," Dean whispered, suddenly desperate to make his brother understand. He'd known it would happened, had known that Sam would never accept what was going on, but he still had to try. Maybe the angel was right. Maybe he was deserving. Maybe he could have _everything _he wanted.

"He's not gonna leave?" Sam repeated. "Really? Not gonna go back to Heaven when this is all over?"

Dean shook his head. "I told you. He's mine. He-"

"Belongs to you, yeah." There was something like malice laced in Sam's voice, something harsh and biting in his eyes. "Like a slave. That little fallen angel on your _leash_. Tell me something, Dean, is he into bondage?"

Dean took a step back. "You don't get it-"

"No, I understand perfectly. You went out, corrupted an angel, and got yourself a sex-slave all in one night. I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"

"It's not _slavery_."

"_Ownership_, Dean," Sam snarled, closing the gap between them with a quick lunge, breathing down into his brother's face, his eyes alight with pain and fear. "That's what it comes back to. What I saw in there, that's not something I'd typically think of as _angelic_. You, on the other hand, would be perfectly capable of instigating it. It's control."

"He doesn't mind. He's never-"

"Had free will? Like a Heavenly pit bull, let off the chain to go to war, right? Is that what you think? You think that just because you can make a person do something, you should? That's called _rape_, Dean."

Dean faltered, stepping back for the first time since Sam had invaded his space and finding himself pressed up against the railing. "But-"

"It's wrong, and you know it," Sam said, voice low and deadly.

"You don't understand. He _loves_ me."

The younger man's eyes softened. "I thought you were better than this."

"You don't know what it's like. I finally have-"

"A sure thing? Dean, don't do this. It's a one-way ticket back to Hell."

Dean shook his head. "No. Cass said God _willed_ it."

"You trust a fallen angel?" He sighed. "Look. You're obviously messed up right now. It's been four months. I'll overlook it. I will. Just… let him go."

"What?"

"Tell him to leave. Make him go away. Give him free will or send him back to Heaven or wherever. I don't care. He's just… bad news. Make him go."

"No."

"Then I go."

Dean jerked back against the railing, his body spasming, heart thumping in his chest, hands scrambling for support as the world was ripped out from beneath his feet.

He'd been right. He'd been right the whole time. Sam didn't get it, couldn't understand. How could he, being coddled like he had, held and comforted and _loved_ his whole life? How could he possibly know what it was like to finally be able to come in out of the cold?

So that was what it came down to. His brother, or the one sure thing he'd ever have. Someone who had left before, and probably would again, or someone who would never stray.

"Please," he whispered, ignoring the desperate note that snuck into his voice. "I've never had anything before. Just this once…"

Sam turned away, looked over at the park, at the swingset with its creaky swings slowly rocking in the breeze. "Me or him, Dean."

"But-"

"Make a choice."

-.-

He was a manipulative bastard. He'd spent most of his life pretending to be stupid, sliding by on his looks. He was intelligent when he had to be. He could weave a plan. He could bend people. He was no idiot.

Dean opened the door to the motel room with a plan. His angel still had some of those God-given abilities, it seemed. He still held that same warmth, could still worm inside the hunter's mind. Maybe he would be able to follow him, track his progress across the country. He just had to stay out of sight while Sam was there, but as soon as the younger man went off to wherever he went during the nights…

Dean was going back to Hell. But at least he would be happy on Earth.

Castiel was sitting on the bed, staring at the blank TV screen, apparently lost in thought.

"You're still here?" The question was automatic, the sight of someone _waiting_ for him still new to the hunter.

The angel turned and offered a sad smile. "Of course. You wanted me to stay."

"Yeah. About that…"

Castiel cocked his head to one side. "You don't want me to stay?"

"Well-"

"That's good."

Dean blinked, taken a back. "What do you mean?"

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, in the diner. About free will."

The hunter's heart sank in his chest, a cold tremor passing through his body. "What about it?"

"I think I would like it." There was fear in the usually strong voice, a soft shake, an aversion of the eyes that Dean had never seen before. "Of course," the angel amended quickly, "I would also happily remain with you."

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Even if Dean cast him out, commanded him to come only when Sam was away, his brother would still be right. It was slavery. It was rape. It was the one thing in his life that Dean had any control over. And it was still wrong.

"I can't do this," he said softly. "I can't."

"Do what?" Castiel asked, legitimately confused.

"This. It's not real, you know? It's nice. But it's not real."

The angel stepped forward, closing the space between them, and took Dean's hand in his. It was warm and it was right and he tried to soak it up, to remember how he felt in that moment, because he was sure that he would never feel that way again. "What are you saying, Dean?"

He sighed, squeezing the hand that had taken his. Maybe someday he'd find someone else, someone that Sam would approve of, someone he wouldn't have to control. "Have it, if you want it."

"Have what?"

"Free will."

Castiel smiled, looking up at Dean with gratitude in his eyes. "You mean that? You would let me go?"

Dean shrugged. "I figure you're just about human now, anyway. Might as well get the full experience. Besides, Sammy gave me a choice."

The angel nodded. "Me or him."

"Yeah."

"And you chose him."

"He made a really convincing argument." He glanced down at their hands, still intertwined. "You can go now, you know."

"I know." He leaned up until their lips brushed softly together in the closest semblance of a kiss. "I love you."

Dean jerked back, eyes wide. He blinked, unable to believe he'd heard. There had been no command issued, was no ownership to be claimed, nothing to elicit the remark. He was met with a knowing stare, a soft smile.

That was all the consent he needed. Their mouths were pressed back together in an instant, warmth and safety and love passing between them, flowing in a way that the hunter had never thought possible. It seemed purer now, lighter, better. Maybe Sam had been right. Maybe this was the way to go.

His free hand fisted in the other man's hair, holding them together, holding on for dear life. Back to Plan A, then. Late night visits behind his brother's back because there was no way Sammy would ever believe him and they would have to be sneaky about it and what if they were discovered and it wouldn't last and then Castiel's hand was on the back of his neck, smooth thumb rubbing soft circles in the spot where it met his shoulder, and every thought and worry faded from his mind.

They pulled apart, but the warmth remained.

The angel smiled up at him. "'When you were slaves to sin,'" he said, "'you were free from the control of righteousness.'"

And Dean thought he understood. He wasn't stupid, after all. He'd done wrong, he'd sinned, and he'd become a slave to that feeling, had a made a slave of someone else because of it. He'd been broken, broken enough to take something that was pure and soil it for his own purposes, and it was because of that that God had deemed him fit to fix. He'd fallen under the jurisdiction of a Higher Power that night, had been pushed in the right direction, had been _tested_. If the angel's reaction was any indication, he'd passed.

"What's that?" he asked, because the way his angel, his guardian, his Castiel was looking at him made him think he was supposed to know.

"Romans 6:20," Cass said, and kissed him again. "Read the Bible."

* * *

Thanks for reading.  Hope y'all enjoyed it :)


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